Dean's Amulet
by sunisrisingonawinchester
Summary: This is a series of one shots, headcanons, and ficlets. If you have any headcanons you want to see, send them to me. Any pairings will be characterized by a (P) in the title and anything with a rating about K will be given appropriate ratings in the same format, plus warnings in the author's note at the top. Please review. Reviews are love.
1. Dean's Amulet (All That He Could Be)

**Dean's Amulet (or All That He Could Be)**

**_A short one shot/ficlet on what really happened to the Samulet. Nothing that couldn't actually be canon. Set after season 9 finale. Minor spoilers. Rated K+._**

* * *

Castiel had never told Dean. Never told him about what had happened to the amulet.

Dean assumed that after he threw it away, it had stayed in the trash. Probably wound up in a landfill somewhere.

That wasn't true.

After returning from his hunt for his father (his unsuccessful hunt), Cas had returned the amulet to Dean. Dean had lost his temper and thrown it away. Unsurprising, since Dean was known for his short fuse.

Cas might have left the amulet there, in the trash, to rot, had it not been for the look on Sam's face.

To Dean, the amulet now stood for the wasted hunt for God, the absent father. Castiel was fairly certain Dean had transferred his disappointments in his own father to God, and saw those reflected in the shiny metallic shape of the charm. Whatever it had meant previously was blocked by his hatred of the missing fathers in his life.

But to Sam, the amulet was his gift to Dean, the only parent in his life who'd actually mattered- aside from Bobby. And it had hurt to watch Dean throw it away. He knew Dean had probably forgotten- not that that made it any better.

But Castiel remembered. Not the incident in which the necklace was given. Later, in Bobby's hospital room, when Dean had been reluctant to hand over the amulet. He had known how much the amulet meant to Dean at the time. He was never without it. It was his most precious possession, aside from maybe his car.

So after returning the amulet to Dean and leaving the motel room, he had continued to watch the events unfolding.

So, once Dean had thrown away the amulet and stormed out to the car, Cas had been the only one to see Sam's face.

After Sam had left the room, Castiel had returned and retrieved the amulet. That night, he had flown into Sam and Dean's motel room and slipped it into Sam's jacket pocket.

Sam had left it on the motel table the next morning with a note for Castiel.

_Cas,_

_Hang onto this. Maybe you'll decide to hunt for God again. It'll do you more good than us. Thanks for the thought._

_Sam_

So Castiel had kept the amulet in his trench coat pocket and Sam never mentioned it to Dean.

When they'd lost Cas in the leviathan invasion, Dean had retrieved Cas' trench coat and kept it. Sam had gone through the pockets and retrieved the amulet. When Sam's delusions of Lucifer had gotten really bad, the amulet had helped some. He kept it with him every where, stored in pockets or duffel bags or sometimes around his neck hidden under his many layers. He might have called it his good luck charm, had it not been for his bad luck with good luck charms.

After Cas got his grace back from his brief stint as a human, Sam had given him the amulet back.

And with everything that had happened with Dean, especially his new alliances in the realms of good versus evil, Castiel was glad.

Cas was going to hold onto the amulet, for as long as he lived- which considering his past might not be very long at all. He would carry it as a reminder of all that Dean had once been. A best friend, a brother, a parent, a savior. And a reminder of all that he had the ability to be again.

Cas would not give up on Dean. He and Sam had stuck to Castiel, believed in him, saved him too many times, for him to give up on Dean now.

_I'd rather have you. Cursed or not. _Cas heard Dean's voice echoing in his head.

_Dammit, Dean. We_ will_ fix this._


	2. Big Plans For That Fish

_**Expansion on Castiel's "big plans for that fish" monologue. One-shot of that scene and what really happened. Rated K+. Reviews are love!**_

"Alright, come on, Cassie!" Gabriel says, holding out his hand to the tiny angel. The little fledgling looks up at him, wide-eyed.

"Where we going, Gabey?"

"We're going to Earth, Cas. Dad asked me to check on some things."

Gabriel bends down and picks up his youngest brother. He flies them to the Earth.

"Cas, I need you to cooperate, okay, buddy? I have to do some work. If you behave, I'll show you something cool, alright?"

"Okay, Gabey," Castiel replies peacefully, sitting next to Gabriel's leg.

As Gabriel checks on the creatures of Earth, he can feel Cas getting antsy.

"Hang in there, kiddo. Nearly done."

"Gabey, I'm bored."

"I know, bud," Gabriel says, picking him up. "Me too. But Dad needs us to do this for him. Help me out, little man."

"Can I? Can I help?" Cas asks excitedly.

"Sure. Here, hold this, okay?"

"Okay!" Cas crows eagerly, proud to help his big brother.

Cas manages to stay interested for a few more minutes and Gabriel is almost finished. He tosses the little angel onto his shoulders amidst giggles.

"Ready to go, Cassie?"

"Ye-es!"

Gabriel flies them to a rocky beach.

They run up and down the beach for most of the day.

Suddenly, Gabriel calls Cas over to him.

"Come look."

Cas comes galloping over, nearly stepping on the creature Gabriel is trying to show him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Gabriel says, lifting Cas up. "Don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish."

Cas nods solemnly, watching Gabe with wide eyes.

"Come on, bud, time to go home."

"Can we come back tomorrow?" Cas asks hopefully.

"Sure, Cassie."

"And the next day?!"

"Maybe, we'll see."

Gabriel flies them home.

"Can I help you again tomorrow, Gabey?"

"Okay, Cas."

"Can we see Fred again tomorrow?"

"Fred?"

"The big-plan fishy."

Gabriel tosses back his head and laughs.

"Alright, Cas. But, I promise, you'll see more exciting things than the fish that will _one day_ grow into something special."

"He's something special now," Cas says quietly.

"Sure he is Cassie."

"Will Fred change the world, Gabey?"

"Maybe he will. Who knows? Maybe he will; maybe it'll be us."

"Does Dad know?"

"I don't know what all Dad knows, Cassie. Nobody does."

"Dad does."

"Sometimes I don't think he does."

"Gabe?" Cas asks after a moment of quiet.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"Do you think Fred likes oranges?"

"Well, we'll just have to find out, won't we?"


	3. Do I Know You, Dean Winchester?

**Do I Know You, Dean Winchester?**

**A/N: A short fic about Ben and a O/C hunter named Tara. Ben encounters a vampire, and then encounters his past. Rated K+. Rate and review. If you have any headcanons you want, send 'em in and I'll try to write them!**

Ben's eyes blink open. There's a girl kneeling over him.

"Hey, welcome back," she says. "How's the head?"

"Ow," Ben replies, her words reminding him.

"Yeah, I bet," she smirks. "I'm Tara. I just saved your life."

Ben sits up slowly.

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"Not much," Ben admits.

"Alright, let's start simple. What's your name?"

"Ben; Ben Braeden."

"Alright then, Ben Braeden. Got any family?"

"My mom."

"And what's her name?"

"Lisa. Her name is Lisa. I don't have amnesia," he adds, irritated.

"Just checking. What do you remember from earlier?"

"I was... standing over there," he says, pointing across the room. "And there was this girl. And she had these _teeth_. The she picked me up and threw me. Across the room. But, that's impossible, right?"

"Not impossible."

"I guess I hit my head, because I swear, she walked over here and..."

"And what?"

"I think she bit me."

"Yeah, a vampire will do that," Tara replies.

"A what?"

"Vampire. Come on, we need to get out of here."

"A vampire. You're joking," Ben protests, letting her drag him up.

"Nope. Not a joke. I killed it. Alright, here's the short version. All the monsters- or at least, most- you've heard about are real. Vampires, real. Werewolves, real. Ghosts, demons, shapeshifters, real, real, and real. You with me?"

"Uh, yeah. Where are we going?"

"My ride's in the parking lot. How are you handling this?"

"Uh... good, I guess?"

"You're not freaking out," Tara observes.

"It's weird, but I feel like... I already knew this."

"How?" Tara asks, leading him out the door into the parking lot.

"I don't know. Something about my... dad."

"Here," Tara says, stopping by a sleek, black motorcycle.

"This is yours?"

"Bingo. Here, helmet up," she adds, tossing him a helmet.

"Seriously?"

"Hey, I just saved your life. Don't go throwing it away," she tells him, snapping the other helmet on.

"Where are we going?"

"I have a friend nearby. They'll help get you home."

"Thanks, Tara."

"No problem, Ben Braeden."

* * *

Tara pulls into a gas station to fill up and pulls out her phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"My friends. Telling them we're coming. Dean," she says into the phone by way of greeting.

Ben feels a jolt of familiarity. _Dean_. Somehow he knows a Dean, but he can't remember right off. It's like a name he remembers from a dream.

"Well, obviously I'm bringing him to you, where else would I take him?" Ben catches from Tara's discussion with the mysterious Deab. "How do I know? Do I look like a psychic to you?... Of course I got his name, I'm not a neanderthal. His name's Ben Braeden."

Tara pulls the phone away from her ear as Dean bellows into it. Ben can't hear the words, but he can hear the raised voice on the other end.

"Dean. Dean... Dean! Chill out! What's going on?"

"_Bring him here_," Dean growls into the phone.

"Okay, sure, cause I work for you," Tara says snarkily as she hangs up. She turns to Ben. "So, they know we're coming."

"Who was that?"

"That's Dean. He's got an... abrasive personality. His brother Sam is easier to get along with."

Ben nods, but for some reason disagrees with Tara's analysis of Dean, except he doesn't know why.

"Come on, it's not far," Tara says, remounting the bike. Ben climbs on behind her.

* * *

Tara and Ben pull up in front of the bunker. She cuts the engine and they walk up to the door. It opens almost immediately.

"Hey, Sam," Tara greets the giant in the doorway. "Where's Dean?"

"Pacing nervously in the kitchen while pretending to make dinner."

"Not pretending!" Dean calls from inside. Ben feels the jolt of familiarity again.

"What did you do to him?" Sam asks.

"Told him I was bringing a friend," Tara shrugs, gesturing to Ben.

"Ben," Sam says in shock.

"Have we met?" Ben asks in confusion.

"I-uh. No. Of course not."

"Real convincing, Sam," Tara says, sarcastically, patting him on the shoulder as she walks into the bunker.

She goes into the kitchen and hops up onto the table.

"Hey, Dean. Smells good."

"Where is he?"

"In the entryway with Sam. Who is he, Dean?"

"My ex-girlfriend's son. I lived with them for about a year before the job caught up with me. After I distanced myself them, they got kidnapped by demons. They almost died and I asked a friend to wipe their memories. They were supposed to forget about me. Lead normal lives. How did you find him?"

"Vampire attacked Ben."

"Is he alright?"

"Lost a half-pint of blood, give or take. Couple of bruises, cuts, and a minor concussion. He'll be fine."

"What does he remember?"

"So far? Nothing. But he's a smart kid. Give him time, he'll put it together."

"Yeah, I know."

Sam and Ben walk into the kitchen. Tara smirks when she sees Dean and Ben are wearing the same Metallica shirt.

"Hi," Dean says after an awkward pause.

"I know you," Ben tells him. "I just... don't know how."

Dean untenses slightly.

"Okay, then, let's eat."

He spoons up servings for everyone and they sit at the table. Sam and Tara watch the two. Rapidly, the silence becomes awkward.

"So, Ben, tell me about your mom," Tara finally asks.

"Your mom," Dean gasps. "Does she know where you are?"

"I didn't call her?"

"Does she know you're okay?" Dean asks.

"Whoa, Dean, cool it on the 'dad mode'," Tara tells him.

"Does she?" Dean repeats to Ben, slightly more calmly.

"I haven't really had the chance..."

"Here," Dean says, handing over his phone. "Tell her you're safe."

Ben leaves the room, cellphone in hand.

"Hey, Papa Winchester," Tara turns to him. "If you don't wanna tip the kid off, you might want to chill with the over-zealous parent."

"A year of habits is hard to break," Dean shrugs.

"Dean," Ben says from the doorway. "You have my mother's number in your phone."

Dean's eyes widen.

"Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you?"

Tara glances between Dean and Ben. Dean looks adamant about not telling Ben and Ben looks like he will kill for the information.

"Piece it together, Ben. You're smart. What's the link?" Tara prods. "You _know_, Ben."

"Dean knows my family," Ben replies uncertainly.

"Obviously. What else?"

"He-uh... I've never met him, at least, I don't remember meeting him... But I... I _know_ him."

"Keep going."

"Tara..." Dean says warningly. "There's a reason for what I did."

"What did you do?" Ben asks. "Who- who are yo-"

"Don't asks questions about this, Ben," Dean pleads.

"But I need to know. How do you know my mother? How do you know _me_? Sam recognized me when I walked in the door. We've met, I know it. Who _are_ you?"

"Ben..."

"Tell me!" Ben shouts. Suddenly, he winces and clutches his head.

"Ben?" Dean asks worriedly. He gets up and moves over to him. "Ben? What's wrong? What is it?"

Ben can still see Dean, Sam, and Tara, but behind hi eyes, he is seeing memories.

His eighth birthday. When he met Dean.

Dean helping him stand up to bullies.

Fighting the changling and saving people.

Dean coming and living with him and his mom.

A year of breakfasts with the three of them.

Dean leaving to hunt.

Dean coming back changed.

Calling Dean because Lisa was dating.

Demons kidnapping Lisa nad Ben. A demon possessing his mom. Dean rescuing them; teaching Ben how to shoot a gun on the spot. Shooting a demon.

In the hospital after. A man in a trenchcoat coming in.

Dean coming in, but Lisa and Ben don't recognize him.

Suddenly the rapid flow of memories halt. Ben is white-knuckling the table.

"Ben? Ben?" Dean is still asking.

"Dean?" Ben asks, recognizing him for the first time. Dean's shoulders drop.

"Ah, crap."

"Dean... Did you erase my memories?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"I know. I wish you hadn't, but I know."

"I'm sorry, Ben."

"It's okay, Dean. But I remember now."

"Ben, go home. Pretend you don't know about any of this. Because people in this life die."

"You want me to just pretend this never happened? I know things, Dean."

"This isn't safe, Ben. Please, go home and leave this in your rearview mirror."

Ben stares at Dean for a moment then nods.

"Alright, Dean."

Dean seems startled by the sudden acquiescence, but accepts it.

"Tara? Could you take Ben home?"

"Yeah, sure. Come on, Ben."

"Bye, Dean.:

"Goodbye, Ben."

Ben and Tara walk out to her bike.

"You're really going to go home and forget this ever happened?" Tara asks. Ben glances at her contemptuously.

"Hardly."

"You really are Winchester," Tara say, admiringly. "Stubborn, bold. Born to hunt."

"Will you help me?" Ben asks.

"Helmet up. Where to first, Ben Braeden?"


	4. New Addictions (P, SamCrowley) (M)

**A/N: Crowley/Sam one-shot about overcoming addictions. And also, you know, sex. Yeah, this is definitely PWP. Rated M, at least. Very explicit. Don't like, don't read. Sam's thoughts are in italics, Crowley's thoughts are in bold.**

* * *

Sam is sitting at a table in a diner, skimming through Men of Letters' files.

"Hello, Moose," Crowley says, appearing in front of him. Sam starts violently and knocks his cup of coffee. He watches as it starts to tip until Crowley snaps his fingers and it rights itself.

"Show-off," Sam grumbles, shuffling his papers.

"So, where is Squirrel?" Crowley asks conversationally.

"Not here," Sam snaps.

"Obviously," Crowley leans closer and looks at Sam conspiratorially. "Trouble in Paradise?"

"What do you want, Crowley?" Sam asks impatiently, finally glancing at Crowley.

"I'm not allowed to visit my favorite member of Team Free Will?" Crowley replies, feigning innocence.

"No," Sam responds shortly. "What do you want?"

"A little birdy whispered through the grapevine that you had reached a dead end in your case."

"Are you done mixing clichés?" Sam asks coldly.

"Do you want my help or not?"

"What's in it for you?"

"Nothing major. The pleasure of pissing off Squirrel. Ingratiating myself to you. Nothing that would go amiss."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Sam, would I screw you?" Crowley asks. "Aside from in the bedroom?" he adds.

"Yes. And that second one? Never gonna happen."

"'The lady doth protest too much, me thinks'," Crowley quips. Sam just glares. "Sorry, it's the hair."

Sam grits his teeth quietly before returning to the paper's in front of him.

Crowley places a hand at the top of the stack and pushes it towards the table, away from Sam's eyes. Sam glances up at him.

"The answer to this hunt isn't in those files," Crowley tells him. Sam raises his eyebrows. "I am nothing if not helpful."

"Fine," Sam groans. "What do you know?" he asks, sitting back.

"You're looking in the wrong files," Crowley sing-songs, trailing his fingers across the table. "It's not a werewolf. It's a skinwalker, that just happens to turn into a wolf. Doesn't need a full moon, doesn't just eat hearts."

"All this carnage has been caused by _one_ skinwalker?" Sam asks skeptically.

"A particularly sadistic skinwalker," Crowley explains, "But, then who are we to judge?"

Sam rolls his eyes.

"Anything else?"

"Isn't that enough? I just saved you from hours of chasing false leads. However," he adds nonchalantly, "I did send some demons after him this morning. They will have handled it by now."

Sam exhales in frustration.

"Of course you did," Sam says, packing up the files and signaling the waitress for his check.

"Wait, where are you going?" Crowley asks, standing up and following Sam to the counter.

"Home. Since you took my case, I'm going home."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You think I did this so you could _go home_?"

"Well, not anymore," Sam replies, walking to the car.

"Of course not."

"The why did you?" Sam asks, lengthening his strides so Crowley practically has to jog to keep up.

"Because- damn, slow down- because I had a proposition to make to you."

"Alright then. What is it?"

"You want me to propose right here in the parking lot?" Crowley teases.

"Crowley," Sam says with a warning tone.

"Fine then. I have a... case for you."

"Let me call Dean."

"Sorry, Moose. Just you. Squirrel isn't invited."

Sam looks at Crowley as that sends up warning flags.

"Why not?"

"Like I said, Moose, you're my favorite."

Sam considers for a moment.

"Get in. And talk quickly, before I decide to use this," he orders, flashing the demon knife.

Crowley waits until they pull out of the parking lot before he begins to speak.

"Turn left," he tells Sam at the traffic light.

"Where are we going?" Sam asks suspiciously.

"Motel. Edge of town. That's where I stored the information for the case."

"You understand everything you have said so far is suspicious, right?"

"Then why are you still driving?" Crowley asks with a smirk. "Right, here."

"Tell me something about the case, Crowley."

"Patience, Moose, all in good time."

Sam suddenly veers to the curb.

"No," he says, pulling out the demon knife and holding it to Crowley's throat. "Give me answers now, or I will use this," he growls in Crowley's face.

"Are you referring to the demon knife, or the object causing the very obvious tenting in your trousers?" Crowley sasses.

"Enough, Crowley. The case, now," Sam snaps, trying to ignore the faint blush on the back of his neck. Even if he is the _tiniest_ bit aroused, it's definitely not because of _Crowley_. A better bet would be the thrill of holding the knife to his throat, or that the last time he was this close to a demon with the knife was Ruby.

Ruby who fed him demon blood.

_Crowley has demon blood too_, a malicious voice whispers in the back of his mind.

As soon as the thought sweeps through his mind, he draws back as if he has been burned.

_You know you want it, _the voice taunts. _Just one little cut and-_

"Where is the motel?" Sam asks raggedly.

* * *

After Sam pulls away, Crowley shifts uncomfortably.

**Well, that wasn't supposed to happen.**

Not the flirting or Sam's arousal, those were intentional.

But Sam getting that startled look in his eyes and moving away? That wasn't supposed to happen. Sam wasn't supposed to be able to tear himself away.

**Well, we'll fix that, won't we?**

* * *

Sam is tense like an over-wound guitar string all the way down the road.

"Moose?" Crowley asks. "What's the matter?" he slides closer. His hand slips to Sam's thigh.

Sam slams on the brakes. It's good no one is behind them, or they'd have been rear-ended. Which is not the kind of rear-ending Crowley had in mind.

The demon knife is at Crowley's throat.

"_Move_," Sam snarls. Crowley slides carefully away. Sam turns on the radio. "I don't want to hear another word unless it's about the case."

He turns the radio up louder, which is great until Crowley starts singing to Olivia Newton John's "Physical".

"Go to Hell, Crowley," he grumbles.

Crowley gives him a significant look, which he misses and continues to sing loudly and off-key to drown out his own thoughts.

**You heard it. His heartbeat. Saw the blood color his cheeks. That blood you know so well. You want** **more****.**

**No.**

**Don't lie to yourself, Crowley. That's what everyone else is for. You know why you called him here. Made up the case.**

"Enough," Crowley commands out loud.

Sam glances at him in shock.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just... nothing," Crowley replies, shaken. "Motel's on the left. Room 110."

Sam pulls into a parking spot. He and Crowley walk up to the door. Crowley opens it and leads the way in.

"Okay, tell me about this case," Sam says.

"There was no case."

"What?"

"It was a lure. To get you here."

"What for?"

"You know what for," Crowley replies.

"My blood," Sam answers. "You want another fix."

"What? No, hardly. King of Hell, I could get blood from anyone I wanted," Crowley says dismissively. "But then, I must admit," he adds, leaning close to Sam, who is pressed back against the door. "Your blood has certain... _call_ to it."

"I thought you had kicked the habit. Joined Blood-Addicts Anonymous?" Sam asks tensely.

"Don't you understand? An addiction never goes away. You just learn to cope with it. You, of all people, should know that."

Sam can feel the heat rising off of Crowley, can smell him, almost taste his blood already.

Suddenly, he can't resist. Crowley is pinned against the door and the knife is at his wrist before either has a chance to realize what happened.

"Moose. Moose, what are you doing?" Crowley asks nervously. "You're better than this, Moose. Stronger."

"Maybe I'm not," Sam replies distantly, staring at the pulsing vein. A little pressure from his knife and the red nectar will flow out.

"Moose. Stop. Moose, don't. _Sam_."

That startles Sam enough. He meets Crowley's eyes before dropping the knife and backing away.

"Crap," he mutters, dropping to the edge of the bed and putting his head in his hands. Crowley moves warily to sit next to him. "I'm sorry, Crowley," he whispers into his palms.

"S'alright," Crowley replies, watching.

"It's... your blood... I just couldn't..."

"Shh," Crowley whispers. He moves Sam's hands and places a feather-light kiss on the underside of his jawbone. Sam tenses slightly. Crowley slides a hand to his knee and his lips directly under Sam's ear. "Shh."

Sam relaxes slowly. It's been a while since he's been with anyone, and the slight weight on his knee and the breath on his ear feel so right.

"That's it, Moose. It's easier to ignore when you're distracted," Crowley tells him, the hand shifting higher and the lips moving lower. Sam tilts his head to give Crowley better access. Crowley's kisses travel up and down his neck, turning into little nips. Sam suddenly can't take it any more and turns hi head, meeting Crowley's lips with his own. Crowley exhales softly, and Sam sends his tongue forward to meet Crowley's.

Sam moans into Crowley's mouth as the short man tangles his fingers into Sam's long hair. Crowley shifts into Sam's lap, straddling him, one hand tangled in the long locks and another on Sam's chest for stability.

Crowley's fingers drift to the collar of Sam's outer shirt before Sam shrugs it off. Sam tugs at the edges of Crowley's suit jacket and helps him remove it.

Crowley loosens his tie with one and hand and pulls it off.

Sam pulls Crowley's lips to his again, working at the buttons on his dress shirt. He leans back, lifting his own shirt off, before returning to the buttons. Crowley slides his shirt off, then leans forward and kisses Sam's collarbone while Sam works on his own belt buckle and the Crowley's.

"Easy there, Moose. No rush," Crowley murmurs against his throat.

Sam turns his head and captures Crowley's lips again, his fingers still fidgeting with the buckle, then the snap on the slacks. Crowley chuckles into the kiss, but makes no more remarks.

Sam kicks off his shoes and socks, not separating himself from Crowley.

Crowley stands up between Sam's legs. He removes his own shoes before kneeling in front of Sam. He unfastens the button and lowers Sam's zipper with slow, deliberate movements. He grabs two belt loops in his fingers and drags the waistband down, Sam lifting his hips to help.

"Boxers," Crowley observes wryly. He raises himself up, kissing Sam again while palming Sam through the thin cotton boxers. Sam moans against his mouth, thrusting upwards into his hands. Crowley moves his other hand to Sam's hip, stilling his movements.

"Let me take care of you."

Crowley lowers himself back onto his heels, tugging at Sam's boxers.

Sam watches apprehensively as Crowley leans forward and flicks his tongue against the head of Sam's erection. Sam groans softly. Crowley smirks and wraps his lips around the tip, flicking his tongue against the slit. He begins to bob his head up and down, slowly at first, but gaining speed. After a minute he slows back down, before pulling off with an erotic wet _pop_. Sam whimpers at the loss of sensation.

Crowley stands and removes his slacks and boxers, his erection dripping pre-cum. Sam's grabs his hips and pulls him forward, bobbing his head from his seated position. Crowley grips Sam's shoulders, resisting the urge to thrust into Sam's throat.

After a minute, he pushes Sam's shoulders gently. Sam pulls back in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. But if you want to do anything else, we should stop soon."

"How are we... going to do this?" Sam asks.

"You mean, who's on top?" Crowley smirks. "What do you want, Moose? I'm flexible."

"I don't bottom," Sam replies, lifting his chin defiantly.

"Fine, less work for me," Crowley says, settling back onto the pillows. Sam moves closer.

"Here," Sam places his fingers to Crowley's lips.

"I have lube," Crowley informs him.

"Let's start with this."

"Alright, Moose," Crowley smirks. He takes the first three fingers into his mouth and sucks firmly. Sam bites his lip as he remembers those lips around his cock. He lubricates Sam's fingers quickly and well. Sam removes his fingers when they're thoroughly wet.

Sam leans forward and captures Crowley's lips in a kiss as he gently thrusts a finger into the tight heat. The smaller man writhes beneath him in pleasure.

Sam slides the finger in and out slowly and methodically until Crowley is practically whimpering.

"Stop teasing," Crowley snarls.

Sam smirks, but works another digit in beside the first, scissoring the fingers inside Crowley. The King groans beneath him.

Sam, eager to begin working to his own release, adjusts to three fingers more quickly than the first two. Finally, Crowley let's Sam know he's ready.

"That lube you mentioned?" Sam asks. Crowley snaps his fingers, uninterested in moving. The lube appears in Sam's hand, who quickly applies a liberal amount to his dick and Crowley's entrance, who hisses at the sudden cold. He tosses the bottle to the side and lines himself up, glancing at Crowley for consent. Crowley smirks.

"_Today_, Moose."

Sam rolls his eyes, but slides into the tight heat. Crowley tilts his head back and releases a shuddering breath.

Sam begins slow, deliberate thrusts. His hand moves to Crowley's cock, stroking in time to the movement of his hips.

Their breathing increases, shallows, and becomes synchronized. Loud moans fill the room. Suddenly, Crowley tenses and cums with a shout.

"Ah, Sam!"

Crowley clenching around him and his name riding on Crowley's orgasm moan sends Sam over the edge. Sound is muffled like there's cotton in his ears and he gasps as he orgasms.

He pulls his softening cock out of Crowley gently and flops down beside him, his muscles like jello.

"Holy shit, Crowley," Sam exhales as he catches his breath.

"Find a new addiction?"

"Hell yeah," Sam pants. "Hey," he remembers suddenly. "You used my real name."

"I guess I did... _Sam_," Crowley purrs.

If it weren't biologically impossible, Sam would have gotten hard again immediately.

"You like to hear me say your name," Crowley observes. "I'll save that for a special occasion, like next time we're alone."

"Next time?"

"There's always a next time, Sam."

"Give me a few minutes to recharge, and next time can be tonight."

"Well, Sam, the evening's young. There could be several more next times."

"Don't tempt me," Sam replies.

"Why don't you make me, _Sam_?"


	5. Lucifer and Cellos (P, LuciferOC) (K)

**Lucifer and Cellos**

**A/N: Pairing between Lucifer and OC. Rated K+for language, NOT smut. Just a cute, kinda fluffy fic. Enjoy.**

* * *

Anya blinks in surprise as her surroundings suddenly, drastically change.

She _was_ in a bar, flirting obscenely with a young man (and his attractive female companion) and now she was in an over-large cage.

"Dammit," she snarls, fitting the pieces together. Lucifer's Cage.

"Anya?" an eager voice asks behind her.

_Fuck_, Anya thinks to herself_, Lucifer_.

"Lucifer," she replies cooly, turning. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Bring you? I didn't do this. You know I can't work magic in the Cage," Lucifer protests. Anya knows he's good at lying- he is THE devil, after all- but she believes him, against her better judgement.

"Great. So, now I have to figure out who did."

"Anya, how are you?"

"Really? Sixty years later, and _that's_ what you ask? Not 'do you still hate my guts' or 'why haven't you shived my ass yet?'? Because those are the ones I'm asking."

Lucifer tenses slightly, only perceptible to someone who knows him really well, like Anya.

"I did apologize, Anya," Lucifer reminds her.

"You did," Anya conceeds grudgingly, but her tone hints that the apology wasn't quite enough.

"How has Hell been in my absence?" Lucifer asks, shifting towards more neutral territory.

"Fine. Crowley has reworked it. He runs it very efficiently."

"And... How does he treat you?"

"Fine," Anya says shortly. "Everything's going fine without you."

They sit in awkward silence for a moment. Suddenly, Lucifer snaps his fingers and music is piped in from nowhere.

"What are you doing, Lucifer?"

"'Piano Man'. Billy Joel. Your favorite song."

"Turn it off," Anya tells him.

"You loved this song," Lucifer protests. "You loved me once," he adds quietly, eyes fixed on the ground.

"_Once_," Anya clarifies. "That was a long time ago."

"Not so long for creatures like us," Lucifer reminds her. "What happened to us?"

"There were three of us in our relationship. You, me, and your mistress."

"I never had a mistress," Lucifer says, confused. "You could say a lot of things about me, but I was always faithful."

"Tell that to the woman whose arms you were in the night I left you," Anya snaps.

"She was seducing _me_. Women did that. I was the _King_."

"You didn't seem like you were fighting too hard."

"You try articulating when some bimbo is trying to shove her tongue down your throat," Lucifer says snarkily. "It's not like I asked her to do that."

"I'm sure that's exactly what you want me to believe."

"Well, since it's the truth, yes, I would."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I've never lied to _you, _Anya."

Anya looks away from Lucifer, unable to meet those earnest eyes, and sits against the side of the Cage.

The song playing through the overhead speakers changes. "Ain't That Just Like A Woman" by Louis Jordan replaces "Piano Man". Anya rolls her eyes.

"_You__r_ favorite song," she remarks.

"It made me sound _less_ bad," Lucifer shrugs.

"I never wanted to fight," Anya admits.

"I know, Anya."

"What happened to us?"

"We were the power couple of Hell, and everyone wanted to undermine us."

"Why did we let them?" Anya asks.

"Because it was easier than protecting what we had."

They sit in silence until the song changes again. An instrumental filled with the mournful sounds of several cellos. Anya recognizes the song; Lucifer composed it. Anya stands up and extends her hand to Lucifer.

"Dance with me?"

They slip into the familiar stance easily; Lucifer's hand clasping her right, his arm around her waist, her head on his chest.

"Hell has been... different without you. Too quiet. Too peaceful. Abaddon's staged uprising was the most exciting thing to happen since your Apocalypse," Anya admits.

"How have you _really_ been?" Lucifer asks again. "How does Crowley treat you?"

"I've been... lonely. Crowley lost interest in me when he realized we were fighting and I couldn't betray you."

"Was he cruel to you?"

"He doesn't have the balls to be cruel to anyone. Much less the Queen of Hell."

"My queen," Lucifer says, spinning Anya smoothly as the song builds. "I should have fought for us, Anya."

"We both should have."

"I _will_. Give me another chance, and I will fight for you."

"My knight in shining armor," Anya teases. "Did you ever name this song?"

Lucifer nods, cleans closer, and whispers in her ear.

"I named it 'Anya'."


	6. Caged Heat (P, Michael Lucifer) (M)

**Caged Heat**

**A/N: Michael/ Lucifer fic from in the Cage. Rated M for smut. Angel-cest, I guess? I sort of cover that in the first couple of paragraph. For all intents and purposes, Adam is either not in the Cage, or unconscious for this whole ordeal.**

* * *

Lucifer sits against the edge of the Cage, a hand threaded through the bars and one foot beating rhythmically.

"Would you stop that?" Michael snaps.

Lucifer immediately halts his foot guiltily, a reflex from years of wanting nothing more than to appease his older "brother".

Lucifer never really understood the angels' insistence on calling each other "brother" and "sister". None of them had ever shared a womb, unless you counted God's mind. And it really just made inter-angelic affairs complicated.

It wasn't that he didn't love the other angels, he did- or, at least, he had. He loved the angels, and his father as much as any angel; Michael most of all.

"Sorry," Lucifer mutters.

"For which part?" Michael snarls, throwing his head back and letting it rest against the bars behind him. Lucifer, remains silent, instinctively knowing it's best to let Michael work the frustration out of his system. "Are you apologizing for the foot tapping? Or yesterday, with the clapping? Perhaps the day before with the snapping? How about getting us trapped in the Cage? Or starting the Apocalypse?"

"That was as much your fault-" Lucifer interjects, ignoring his own advice, but Michael talks over him.

"Or displeasing Father? Chasing Father away with your disobedience? Falling from Heaven and abandoning your brothers and sisters? Abandoning _me_?"

Michael is trembling when he finishes, his face flushed. Lucifer watches him silently for a second as he watches Michael's tension release.

"Better?"

"Shut up," Michael says, but with animosity than before.

"You know, there's a cure for all that tension of yours."

"Yes. Get out of the Cage and restore my place in Heaven."

"Not what I meant. My plan involved a more personal heaven."

"I don't understand."

Lucifer snaps his fingers and two women in skimpy clothing appear.

"What are you doing?" Michael asks.

"We can create anything we want in here. We just can't send things out or bring things in."

"What should I do with them?"

"Make your own and relieve your... sexual tension."

"I'm an angel," Michael says disdainfully. "I have no need for carnal pleasures."

"Lying's a sin, Michael," Lucifer smirks. "When we get cut off from Heaven, we feel the same urges as the human vermin. You've started to feel it too. So, I'm going to put up a temporary wall, you're going to create a woman (or more) to keep you interested, and you're going to show her and good time."

"Wait, you can build a wall?"

"Yep."

"And you're just now telling me?"

"It's only temporary and I'm an ass," Lucifer tells him. "Now, go have fun."

"Wait, Lucifer, I-" the end of Michael's sentence is cut off by the wall that appears between them.

Lucifer settles back against the wall and creates a copy of "The Year the Yankees Lost the Pennant". He begins subconsciously tapping his foot.

* * *

Lucifer must have dozed off at some point, because he blinks awake. His book is gone, and so is everything else he created.

More specifically, the wall between him and Michael (and by extension, Michael's created partner) had disappeared. And, evidently, they weren't finished yet, since what had woken him up was the sound of moans.

"Oh shit," Lucifer mutters trying to untangle himself from the Cage. At some point he had rolled around and wrapped his legs and arms through the bars. Finally, he's free and he sits up and starts to summon his grace when one of Michael's moans reaches him.

"Oh, Lucifer."

Lucifer freezes, certain he has misheard. There is no way- no reason- Michael would moan his name during sex. That's ridiculous.

And there is also no reason the sound of Michael calling his name should make his heart beat faster and his penis harden.

Except that it does.

Lucifer raises his head slightly, watching Michael, believing that it must have been a mistake, that he misheard.

Michael throws back his head.

"Luke," he gasps out.

Lucifer jerks in surprise. It's been a _long_ time since Michael called him Luke- at least since the Fall.

Lucifer catches a glimpse of Michael's partner. He has to blink to make sure he sees it correctly.

Yep. Michael's chosen partner is Lucifer. Not looks like, is. And damn if Lucifer doesn't think that's hot.

"Michael?" Lucifer calls quietly. A gentle, unconscious moan escapes Michael's lips.

Before Lucifer can stop himself, he is behind Michael, lips pressed to the space under his ear. Michael immediately freezes, tensing in panic. Until Lucifer begins nipping at his ear and whispering softly.

Michael makes the fake Lucifer disappear- which is good, because it was starting to make the real Lucifer uncomfortable- and gently presses back against Lucifer.

"Why didn't you say something?" Lucifer asks.

"Why didn't _you_?"

"I thought you hated me."

"I could never hate you, Luke."

Lucifer gently ruts against Michael.

"What makes you think I would bottom for you?" Lucifer teases, referring to Michael's fictional Lucifer.

"Who said you were bottoming?" Michael replies, turning his head to move Lucifer's lips down his jaw. Lucifer captures Michael's lips in his own, snapping his fingers and making his clothes disappear.

Lucifer's hands slide up and down Michael's arms, to Michael's hips, over Michael's chest and stomach, anywhere he can reach. Anything Lucifer can do to touch, to feel, to _hol__d_ Michael against him.

Michael's head is tossed back against Lucifer's shoulder.

"Lucifer," Michael gasps. "I... I want..."

"What do you want, angel? Let me give you what you want."

"I want you... Want you inside me," Michael whimpers.

"Are you sure?"

"Please. Please, Lucifer," Michael pleads, pressing back against Lucifer's erection. Lucifer moans.

Lucifer begins kissing down Michael's back, crouching down. He extends his tongue, sliding it into the tense heat. Michael whimpers.

"Lucifer... That's un-unnecessary."

Lucifer stand back up, hands gliding over Michael's sides.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I know you won't. Just- please, Lucifer."

Lucifer gently guides Michael to the side of the Cage. Michael steadies himself against the bars as Lucifer nudges his legs apart.

He presses one more kiss against Michael's neck as he slides smoothly into him. Michael throws his head back, a moan escaping him as he white knuckles the bars.

"You good?" Lucifer asks, halting his movement.

"_Yes_. M-more," Michael begs. Lucifer begins to gently thrust in and out of Michael.

Suddenly Lucifer brushes Michael's prostate and he screams as he wraps his hands tighter around the bars, struggling to remain standing.

Lucifer's lips are everywhere he can reach, kissing and biting and licking. Michael's lips are busy moaning Lucifer's name and groans and any expletives the angel knows.

Suddenly he tenses and cums with Lucifer's name tangled in a moan. The feeling of Michael tensing beneath him and around him throws Lucifer over the edge and he climaxes with a groan, consumed by the feel and smell, the sound and sight of Michael.

When Lucifer tumbles down from his high, he wraps an arm around Michael's waist, untangles his hands from the bars and gently lowers the two of them to the ground, where he curls around Michael protectively. Michael rolls over and buries his head in the crook of Lucifer's neck.

"I'm sorry I accused you of abandoning me," he says in a sleep-fuzzy voice.

"I'm sorry I ever left."

* * *

**A/N: "The Year The Yankees Lost the Pennant" is a book by Douglass Wallop that was adapted into a play called "Damn Yankees". It follows the story of an older gentlemen who wants nothing more than his favorite baseball team to beat the Yankees and to play baseball himself. He makes a deal with the devil to make him young again and make him a fantastic baseball player. **

**"Ain't That Just Like a Woman" is a jazz song by Louis Jordan written in 1946. **

**"Piano Man" is a song by Billy Joel (composed with Elton John).**


	7. Misha, Meet the Overlord (P) (T)

**Misha, Meet the Overlord**

**A/N: AU where Lucifer comes to our world. Misha is not married to his wife in this. Rated T for language and slight smut. Don't know why I'm suddenly writing Lucifer fics left and right, but here's another.**

* * *

"See you guys," Misha calls to a group of fan girls. The fans continue to scream and Misha hears a woman scream "I love you, Misha!" over the chaos. He smiles and waves, starting to walk away. After the long day of filming- in which they got nothing shot, between Jared and Jensen screwing around, having to constantly reset the sound stage every time they screwed up (which was most of the day), and herding extras (which was a bit like herding cats) and crew members (which was worse than herding cats)- all Misha really wanted to do was go home, shower, and sleep until call tomorrow. Which reminds him that call is at eight tomorrow morning. He glances at his watch and groans. It's midnight.

There's a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision and he turns to look. The trees are dark and foreboding, but Misha doesn't see anyone. He suppresses a shiver that slides down his spine and gets into the waiting car.

"Where to, Mr. Collins?"

"My apartment," Misha answers distractedly, staring out the window.

"Long day?"

"The longest," Misha replies, shaking his head to clear out cobwebs. "How're the kids?"

* * *

"See you in the morning, Mr. Collins," the driver calls after him. Misha waves as he hurries to the door of his apartment. He leans against the door with his eyes closed after he shuts it behind him,

"I have to stop watching 'Supernatural' episodes," he chastises himself.

"I suppose I shouldn't take that personally," a voice replies, obscenely close to Misha's ear.

"Jesus Christ!" Misha exclaims, leaping away from the intruder.

"Not exactly," he replies, leaning against the door with a smirk and a wink. Misha recognizes Mark Pellegrino.

"Mark? Holy crap, you scared me. How did you get into my apartment?"

"I'm not Mark," Mark smirks.

"What do you mean? And, seriously, how did you get into my apartment?"

"I can do a lot of things. Mark is my vessel. I honestly believe he thought I was joking when I mentioned who I was."

"Vessel? Mark, are you going through some sort of actor psychotic break? Should I get help?" Misha asks. He had heard of that happening to actors. They get stressed or overworked and start thinking their fictional lives are real. But Mark hadn't been on "Supernatural" in a while. Why would that show be the one that he snapped into?

"I told you, I'm not Mark."

"Fine then," Misha replies, deciding to humor him. No use in having a pissed-off actor on a psychotic break running amok in his apartment. "What should I call you?"

"I have many names," Mark replies coyly. Misha starts to roll his eyes. "But you can call me Lucifer."

Misha has to sigh. It was beyond him why Mark- or Lucifer, whatever- would pick Misha to come to during his breakdown. Lucifer the character would not have gone to Castiel. Mark was probably integrating his reasonable thoughts- such as "Misha is an understanding guy; he'll help"- into his hallucinations.

"Okay... Lucifer. I'm going to call someone, and we'll talk this out, okay?"

Misha pulls his phone out of his pocket when Mark snaps his fingers and it flies into his hand. Misha's eyes widen.

"How did you do that?"

"I told you. I'm Lucifer."

"Okay, cool trick. Now give it back so we can talk this out with someone."

"You don't believe me."

"Listen, all I want is to get you some help, okay?"

"You think I'm just your friend- Mark, right?- having hallucinations? Well, could Mark do this?" he asks. Misha flies back against the wall, but when he collides, it's gentle. Misha struggles against the wall, pinned in the air, eyes wide.

"What the hell?"

"Do you believe me now?"

Misha stares in alarm.

"Oh my God. This is impossible. This is the shit from fanfictions. It's not real."

"Oh, it's very real," Lucifer says, lowering Misha gently. Misha's knees buckle beneath him and he drops to the floor. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Well, you did," Misha snaps. _Oh, God. I'm mouthing off to Satan_. A hysterical giggle escapes him.

"You alright?" Lucifer asks, crouching beside him.

"Satan is in my living room. Not really."

"There's the attitude I've heard about," Lucifer remarks, pleased. He gently lifts Misha up to his feet and leads him to his couch.

"What are you doing here?"

Lucifer's silent, aside from snapping his fingers and handing Misha a cup of tea (in one of his own mugs, Misha observes), handing Misha a blanket, and generally trying to be comforting.

"What are you doing?" Misha asks, watching Lucifer fret.

"Um... Trying to calm you down?" Lucifer replies as if he is unsure.

"Do I look not calm?" Misha asks.

"Well, as you said, Satan is in your living room. Most people would be at least alarmed."

"I work with Jared and Jensen. I have a fast recovery rate."

"Fair enough."

"You never answered me. What are you doing here?"

Lucifer walks leisurely around the living room, studying Misha's decorations. It's more bare than he would normally like, but since he's never home, it hasn't bothered him much.

"Human's are interesting creatures. You build these... homes. Several thousand feet in the air. 'To be closer to God', your ancestors cried. Yet I so rarely see humans consistently look out their windows, at the Heavens. Except for you. Are you searching for God, Mr. Collins?"

"Honestly? I was looking at the stars," Misha responds sheepishly. "And it's Misha, not Mr. Collins."

"My apologies. Your friend in the car called you Mr. Collins."

"Well, he's an employee."

"But you knew so much about his life?"

"Well, he's an interesting guy."

"I believe you are a very kind person," Lucifer remarks, watching Misha closely.

"You were watching me. At the lot."

"I was afraid you had seen me."

"Why were you watching me? Why are you here?"

"To make sure you were the one."

"What one?"

"Every so often, I come here. To your... universe. I watch the humans, and I find one that interests me."

"And I interest you?"

"You are kind, helpful, accepting. Contrary to popular belief, I am not evil, and I do not enjoy the company of evil people."

"So you come to Earth, pick a person, and what? Have a cup of tea with them?"

"Not usually," Lucifer admits.

"Then what?"

"Usually the encounters are of a more... carnal nature..."

Misha's eyebrows rise alarmingly.

"You have sex with them."

"Yes, with their consent."

"_You_ have to get consent?" Misha asks.

"I don't _have_ to; I choose to. There is nothing sexier than two consenting adults," Lucifer shrugs.

"So, if I said 'no'..?"

"If you asked me to leave, I would leave. But you would be the first."

"The first person to reject sexual favors from Lucifer?" Misha asks surprised. "I'm interested. That's... not a 'yes'," he adds. "I just want to know what you could have possibly offered them."

"Lonely people. They just want comfort. I can relate. So can you, I believe?"

Misha glances away from Lucifer and his honest eyes.

"I made you uncomfortable," Lucifer observes.

"You're just very honest," Misha replies.

"Honesty is the best policy," Lucifer sing-songs. "You don't have to be lonely, Misha," he says more seriously.

"Who said I was lonely?"

"You come home to an empty house. You wake up, go to work. You're fascinated by the life of your _driver_, because you believe it is so much more interesting than yours. Because it is full."

"Are you always this good at reading people?"

"Generally."

"Why did you pick me?"

"We understand each other. Lonely, focused on our work. Looking for someone... Interesting."

"And I interest you?"

"The nice one's always do."

Misha cocks his head to the side, studying Lucifer.

"You chose me because I'm _nice_?"

"I chose you because you're interesting," Lucifer corrects. "So tell me, Misha, do you want to see what I can offer to someone who interests me?"

Misha bites his lip indecisively for a moment, the suddenly looks Lucifer straight in the eye.

"Yes."

Lucifer leans in close, hand moving up Misha's knee, lips against the lobe of his ear.

"Guys like us don't have to be lonely. Not anymore."

The rest of the night is sort of a blur. First in the living room, then in the kitchen, then finally in the bedroom. A good blur, but still a bit blurry.

By the end of the night- which is actually the morning- Misha is exhausted. He glances at the clock beside his bed. Six o'clock. Call is in two hours.

"Try to sleep," Lucifer advises him. "You'll need it."

Misha doesn't even bother to argue, his eyelids already slipping shut.

* * *

An hour and forty five minutes later, Misha blinks awake, eyes half-closed, stiffness in his joints, and comfortably sore.

He rolls over in the arms wrapped around his stomach. The blonde man behind him blinks awake. His eyes adjust slowly, and a look of confusion covers his face.

"Misha? Where am I? What the hell I going on?"

_Dammit_. Misha think to himself. It's just like Lucifer to abandon him naked in bed with a confused Mark Pellegrino and no good explanation.


End file.
